The Liar
by Zeddy8
Summary: Sherlock has issues with lying, and with handling his anger. This time, he's taken it one step to far. (Angst, implied JohnLock).


_Well this turned out much shorter and way more angsty than I had originally anticipated. But I was angry at someone, and needed to get it out. Poor Sherlock was my target. _

_I don't own Lestrade, John, or Sherlock._

_Oooo_

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock said, for the third time. But John didn't stop, he only shoved past the consulting detective.

"No. Shut it, I don't fucking care anymore. Okay? That was- too far, Sherlock. Too far this time." John grumbled, and with a slam of the door, he was gone.

Sherlock stared at the door for awhile, before he pooled himself on his chair. All alone, yet again, it seemed. ALways alone. He didn't mean to scare JOhn away, he had managed to fake it with him for s long this time. But he blew his cover. He revealed what kind of person he really was. A lying, manipulative bastard; he couldn't control it, he didn't want to be this kind of man, but he was. It was above him, it wasn't in his control.

"_Of course I make money in consulting. Who wouldn't pay?"_

"_I love you, John."_

"_Pooling our funds, isn't that what most couples do?"_

"_I am adding to it!"_

"_I'm sorry John."_

He clenched his fist, and with a rising anger, his fist collided with the wall. He didn't break the drywall, and his knuckles busted, but he didn't care. Why? Why did this come out of him. If he had to be like this, why couldn't he just hide it.

He grabbed the knife off of his mantelpiece and sent it flying against the wall, lodging it in the smiley face. Stupid smiley face, why is it happy? He stalked to the wall and ripped out the knife. Then he began the task of carving the offending face's mouth into a frown. Good, now they could share his misery. When he finished, he lodged the knife back into the drywall.

Next was the skull. It was smiling too, why was everything smiling? He simply threw it against the wall, and sure enough it shattered against the ground. He let out an angry sob at the sound of it's destruction.

The knife was relocated the the union jack pillow. Next came the first aid kit. He threw it across the room as well, leaving it's contents all over the ground, except for the medical bandages. He strong these across the door, as something of a shield. As weak as it really was, it looked like a barrier. The tea cups and china were next. These were easy to break, he threw each and everyone at the ground, allowing the little pieces to scatter the ground around his bare feet, effectively trapping him. After this was finished he let out another angry sob and fell onto his knees, ignoring the porcelain now in his knees and shins.

Stupid fucking lies. Why was it always the lies?

"Sherlock…" John's voice caused him to flinch and look away from the door.

"What in bloody hell?" Johns voice again, and then the crunching sound of porcelain. Two hands under his armpits pulled Sherlock to his feet.

"Go away John." Sherlock finally grumbled.

18. That's how many people he had gotten close to, the scared off. Lied to them one too many times.

"No." John said firmly, "I'm going to bandage up your wounds, put some fucking shoes on you, and then we're talking. We can clean this up later."

Oooo

"I'm not normal, John."

"I know."

"No, really. I can't-it's not- I don't like it. I hate lying, I hate being who i am."

"It's okay."

"No it's not. I can't control it. It just comes out, and it's so easy."

"I don't care."

"I can't stop it. I'll just do it again."

"You can try."

"I do try, it's just part of my design, John. I'm messed up in here." He tapped his temple in illustration.

"Did something cause it?"

"No."

"Than we can work through it."

"I've tried to."

"Have you seeked professional help."

"Many times."

"And Mycroft knows?"

A bitter laugh. "He knows."

"Care to expand?"

"No."

"Can I help?"

"No."

"Can you tell me why you destroyed the flat?"

"No."

"_Sherlock_."

"18."

"18?"

"18 people have left me, 19 with you. And it is always my fault."

"18."

"It wasn't all lies, John."

"Hmm?"

"What I've said, what I've told you. Some of it was true."

"And just what was?"

"It's true, I don't make money."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"But about you."

"Don't go there, Sherlock, not now. I can't… You have to understand, I need a bit to calm down. I'm still royally pissed."

"I-I understand."

Oooo

"I love you, John."

"Not yet."

Oooo

"John-"

"Please, Sherlock."

Oooo

"It's been a month."

"Since it ended, yes. Since it started? No."

Oooo

"I'm sorry."

"Save it."

Oooo

"Please John, let me explain."

Oooo

"You never let me explain, John. That although I may be a chronic liar with anger issues. That although I was about the worst partner you could have asked for, and I never deserved you. But I wasn't always lying to you. I do love you. And I hate that you never let me clear that up."

Oooo

"I'm fine, Lestrade, leave me alone."

Oooo

"No, I'm not attending the funeral."

Oooo

"I'm coming, John. And then I will explain it all to you. I will tell you, honestly, that I love you."


End file.
